By Jonah Goldberg
Saturday, January 21, 2017
I am writing this before Donald Trump’s inaugural
address, which is a weird thing to write. I expect I’ll have reactions to the
address itself up in the Corner.
I didn’t go down to the Mall today, but it’s not because
I was “boycotting” Trump. A team of scientists could harvest the DNA of Abe
Lincoln, Calvin Coolidge, Ronald Reagan, Phil Gramm, William F. Buckley,
Winston Churchill, and Rowdy Roddy Piper and create some sort of super
president with laser vision and a Kung Fu grip and I still wouldn’t want to go
down to the Mall, get bumped by other people, and stand in the cold for hours
only to hear a speech in the rain.
There’s something that people don’t know about me — and
they never will because I never used my real name and then I burned that motel
down to the ground.
But there’s something else people don’t know about me.
I’m not a big fan of enthusiasm, particularly among large numbers of people.
When large numbers of people get really into something, I tend to go the
opposite direction.
I guess the one place it doesn’t bother me is sports. As
you know, I’m not a big sports guy, but I am a guy and I get the appeal of going all in for your squad out on the
diamond and shouting, “Acquire more points!”
But beyond that, I’ve never much liked events where
spectators get too into anything. I like music, but I find concerts where
everyone is all agog vaguely creepy. I sometimes feel like everyone else has been
hypnotized and I’m expected to play along. Or sort of like I’m the only stoned
one in the crowd (when it’s actually closer to the other way around). I don’t
mean this as a smug thing. I wish I
could get more into things like that. It certainly looks fun and, back in the
day, the chicks seemed to dig it.
I think the fact that I’m a “don’t just do something, sit
there” type of guy informs a lot of my politics. It’s certainly a huge part of
why I’ve never liked youth politics and think so little of young people who
take so much pride in being young: a) You didn’t do anything, everyone who has ever lived past, say, 21 accomplished
“being young,” too; b) there is no ideological content to youth politics; c) if
the best thing you’ve got going for you is that you can boast you were born
later than other people, you’ve really got nothing going for you; d) shut up
kid, you’re bothering me; e) Grumble!; and f) Harrumph!
The Unwisdom of
Crowds
But the realm where crowds and enthusiasm bother me the
most is politics. The cult-like adoration for Obama made me feel vaguely
unsafe, like when someone a bit too chatty opts for the urinal next to yours
after walking past ten empty ones. Okay, that’s not exactly the right analogy,
but that makes me feel unsafe, too.
And so did stuff like this.
Look, I like kids. But crap like that makes me want to
run through the room in a bloody clown suit while revving up a chain saw.
(Don’t worry: Even in my darkest thoughts I wouldn’t hurt anyone — but I would
like to see them scurry.)
Similarly, I am a big fan of volunteerism so most of this is harmless even if
it makes me uncomfortable.
But when Demi Moore ends this thing by pledging to be a
“servant of our president” it makes me want to peel off my face like the
plastic film on the screen of a new iPhone. (Though I do think it would be fun
to make Charlie Cooke watch it using the Ludovico technique just to see how
long it took before he turned green, grew out of his restraints, and started
shouting in that fake accent of his, “British Hulk shall smash neo-feudalism in
my new country!”)
I bring this up for several reasons. First, because I
couldn’t think of anything else to write about this morning. Second, because I
think it’s a relevant point lost on some Trump fans. Even if he were my first
choice in the primaries, I would never have gone all in with the MAGA hysteria.
And that’s not just because I have ideological problems with Trump’s
nationalism. If Jeb had been my first choice (he wasn’t), I still wouldn’t have
been out there waving my big foam finger, shouting “Jeb’s No. 1!” and putting
mayo on everything. If George Pataki were my first choice, I’d sue my dentist
for accidentally lobotomizing me with his drill because that’s the only
scenario where I could see that happening. In short, Trump could be Calvin
Coolidge (re)incarnate, and I still wouldn’t wear flair because I don’t do
flair.
The Politics of
Transcendence
I guess my point is that I don’t like crowds. I don’t
trust them. Good things rarely come from them. Not all crowds are mobs, but all
mobs start as crowds, and I’m a little allergic to the vibrations within in
them. The heroic unit in the American political tradition is the individual,
not the mob. The crowd is what makes the cult of personality a thing. Without
the crowd, it’s just a person.
I ran across this quote recently from the pastor and
author Eugene Peterson.
Classically, there are three ways
in which humans try to find transcendence — religious meaning — apart from God
as revealed through the cross of Jesus: through the ecstasy of alcohol and
drugs, through the ecstasy of recreational sex, through the ecstasy of crowds.
Church leaders frequently warn against the drugs and the sex, but at least, in
America, almost never against the crowds.
I think this is a fantastic insight. That feeling I don’t
like at concerts is, I think, related to this quest for transcendence by the
crowd. I didn’t like it in Obama’s new-age revivalism and I didn’t like it in
Trump’s old-timey revivalism.
Now you can disagree with me about crowds and you can
think Peterson is all wet. That’s fine. But there’s an important political
point here. Elias Canetti notes in his book Crowds
and Power that inside the crowd, “distinctions are thrown off and all
become equal. It is for the sake of this blessed moment, when no one is greater
or better than another, that people become a crowd.”
“But,” Canetti adds, “the crowd, as such, disintegrates.
It has a presentiment of this and fears it. . . . Only the growth of the crowd
prevents those who belong to it from creeping back under their private
burdens.”
In other words, bubbles pop. The sort of aesthetic or
transcendent enthusiasm of the crowd is by definition unsustainable. The
concert must end, the rally must stop. The old cliché about how politicians
campaign in poetry but govern in prose gets at the same point. Barack Obama
nearly destroyed the Democratic party by thinking he could translate the
transcendence of the crowd into a governing style. Donald Trump would do well
to learn from Obama’s mistake.
Waiting for Calvin
Speaking of Calvin Coolidge, he’s been on my mind ever
since Amity Shlaes pointed out on Twitter that Coolidge’s “inaugural” remark
upon learning he inherited the presidency was, “I believe I can swing it.”
Coolidge wasn’t my jelly, he was my jam as some annoying
person might say. Longtime readers of the G-File might recall some of my
favorite Coolidge lines. When asked to summarize the record of his
administration, Coolidge replied, “Perhaps one of the most important
accomplishments of my administration has been minding my own business.” The
point wasn’t that he was lazy, the point was that it takes work to stop
government from doing stupid things. “It is much more important to kill bad
bills than to pass good ones,” he once remarked.
When Coolidge said, “When you see ten problems rolling
down the road, if you don’t do anything, nine of them will roll into a ditch
before they get to you.” Again, the point wasn’t laziness, it was confidence in
the ability of society — a.k.a. the people — to figure things out for
themselves. For every ten big problems our society faces, nine of them aren’t
the government’s problem. Liberals think not only that all ten are the
government’s problem, but that ten is an insanely low tally of the big problems
the government is supposed to be dealing with. And fewer and fewer
conservatives would endorse the Coolidge Ratio.
I’m increasingly convinced we’ll never have another one
like him. My point isn’t that we don’t produce people like Coolidge anymore —
though that’s more than a little true, too. It’s not that a Coolidge couldn’t
get elected today either, though who could argue with that? It’s that even if
we somehow produced a Coolidge and got him or her elected, the nature of the
state is such that even Coolidge couldn’t really be Coolidge.
One of the tasks Mephistopheles has assigned me as I
continue to burn in Book Hell is dancing the Lambada with Helen Thomas, our
naked bodies bonded together as one with Saran Wrap. Oh wait, that’s real Hell.
No, in Book Hell, I’ve been reading a lot about the
administrative state. We don’t need to get too deep into those weeds now, but
one of the things I’ve come to believe is that the administrative state is
unlawful and another is that it is the enemy of civil society.
I kind of think of civil society as coastal wetlands. For
years, people overlooked wetlands as the kind of ugly, swampy places that
served no great purpose. It turned out that wetlands are hugely important. They
absorb bad runoff from reaching the ocean, they buffer the coast from soil and
beach erosion, and they offer a diverse ecosystem a habitat they can’t find
anywhere else. If you think of the government — particularly the administrative
state — as an ocean, civil society is the wetlands that keep the ocean from
eroding everything. They’re a buffer that blunts the impact of the state.
Conversely, they are what stop the nine out of ten problems Coolidge talked
about. Without the wetlands, all ten just roll straight into the state’s
ocean-sized lap.
Now, I know what you’re thinking, “Man that analogy has
some holes in it.” And my answer to that is: Considering the price you paid for
this “news”letter, you should count yourself lucky I didn’t go with the
women’s-prison-movie analogy that I wanted to run with.
The reason we can’t have a Coolidge today is that
government has gotten involved in so much he would have to be an activist just
to unwind a fraction of it. C. S. Lewis says somewhere that if you took a wrong
fork in the road, it’s not progress to keep walking in the wrong direction.
It’s progress to turn around and find the right road.
As I’ve written several times now, I feel more and more
like I’ll be in the Nockian remnant for a good while. But today is not the day
to rehash old arguments about Donald Trump. That day will come soon enough.
Today is a day to wish him well and hope for the best.
I’m reminded of H. L. Mencken’s obituary for Coolidge, a
president he first scorned but later came to appreciate. “Should the day ever
dawn,” Mencken said, “when Jefferson’s warnings are heeded at last, and we
reduce government to its simplest terms, it may very well happen that Calvin’s
bones now resting inconspicuously in the Vermont granite will come to be
revered as those of a man who really did the nation some service.”
I’m not a big fan of the slogan “Make America Great
Again.” And I’m not sure what Donald Trump meant last night when he said we’re
going to do things we haven’t done in “many, many, decades.” But if he can get
us back to the right fork in the road, and to a place where he could be replaced
by a Coolidge, or at least to a place where his bones might be revered, he will
have made America greater yet — and he’ll have my gratitude.
Here’s hoping.
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